


like a light

by 21 (thedisasternerd)



Series: the language of dreams [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, Character Study, M/M, Memories, Philosophy, Reunions, Soul Bond, Soulmates, T'hy'la, but also angst, general fuckery with canon, of sorts, short and kinda sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-07-31 21:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisasternerd/pseuds/21
Summary: Jim. Jim would say that, of course he would. He loved books, the smell of them, the feel of old, worn paper and ink under his fingertips. Is he really no longer as real, as tangible as those fragments of history?But these thoughts are selfish and self-serving. Jim gave everything he had, and Spock needs to cherish what shards of him he has left. They almost coalesce into a faint image that stands behind him with soft eyes and says, "Well, Mr. Spock?" with a voice that ghosts over the hairs on his neck and makes him shiver even now, decades later, the voice-That is lost forever, trapped in the Nexus.





	like a light

**Author's Note:**

> purely self indulgent, but please note that this is my first fic in the fandom, so apologies if the characters are ooc and the events proceed too quickly - but the main focus here is on the relationship and the effects that it has on spock.  
so basically another character study in disguise (can you hear that? that's my beta screaming _ not another one! _ in the distance).
> 
> this is the first installment of the _ language of dreams _ series/'verse, wherein i give canon the middle finger and drag jim kirk prime into the aos verse, simply because i love tos and wanted to reunite the jim 'n spock of that particular reality.  
also, i know that spock prime had probably come to terms with his separation from tos jim, but at the same time he most definitely hasn't - Vulcans, after all, feel emotions much more powerfully, and that is why they exercise such control, even shun it, because to them, they are dangerous. well, that's my opinion, anyway.  
this was heavily inspired by [nitesky by robot koch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-aJfcYzct8) and [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JGpoqKzG2HE) stunning video. go watch it, please!
> 
> _so_ many thanks to my darling beta and bff, who made this so much better despite not even being in this fandom. it took a lot of (enthusiastic) explaining, but they put up with it. they preside over at [northchachacha](https://northchachacha.tumblr.com) on tumblr. as for me, any questions will be answered at [thedisasternerd](https://thedisasternerd.tumblr.com) on said site. hit us up!  


> _no one knows_
> 
> _what it's like_
> 
> _you and me_
> 
> _you and I_
> 
> _underneath_
> 
> _the night sky_
> 
> _you and me_
> 
> _you and I _

Spock knows that the activity that he is currently engaging in is highly illogical and very much an emotional, human thing.

But beyond the window, New Vulcan's foreign constellations twinkle (atmospheric distortion, Spock knows, but he is rather inclined to indulge this fanciful human notion), white pinpricks on navy velvet. It's such a stark contrast to the way the rusty red desert quietly basks in the light of the two moons. They sail across the blue-black canvas, faster than the one he remembers from the nights he spent on the rooftop as a child.

That memory is bittersweet, now, but no less cherished for it. The thought leaves an odd taste on his tongue, makes his all-too-human heart clench. He half-expects that in a beat, there will be a presence at his side, the one that he would know blind, deaf and dumb. Perhaps that strangely soft glow would return, growing brighter and brighter until he was the light, and the light was he. Maybe then, the world wouldn't be so hard to bear.

Two halves make a whole, mathematically, _logically_, but that... doesn't quite fit, doesn't encapsulate all he and Jim ever were. There is nothing set about the joining of two souls into one. It always was push and pull, two lightning bolts meeting, the wobbly whispers of a magnetic field. They orbited each other, spinning closer and closer together, until they became so completely and utterly integrated into each other that it was impossible to imagine life without the other - and yet here he is. Nonetheless, even now, Spock can see traces of Jim, _his_ Jim, within himself. He is more human, more open, despite all his, perhaps misguided, efforts to the contrary.

The memories that surface make his eyes burn, acutely aware of the yawning emptiness beside him. Of course, he can feel the sharper shape of this timeline's Jim Kirk, the one with startlingly blue eyes. But that Jim isn't _his_ Jim. On some level, perhaps, but this timeline's Spock isn't quite the same as Spock himself, either. They are different, and this universe's Jim and Spock are each other's, and no one else's. Spock himself, too knowledgeable about that serrated, shattered feeling of _ripped-away_, wouldn't try to reclaim his Jim in this one, even if he could.

Soul bonds are not logical. Sometimes, that fact makes Spock feel completely out of his depth. He can still feel the slow curve of Jim's lips against his shoulder, the soft murmur of '_So, T'hy'la, eh? You Vulcans are the most logically illogical species..._'

Jim had hit the proverbial nail on the head. As always.

But the man who could kiss away any unhappiness Spock had is not here and never will be. The silence blankets the landscape like a shroud, a new layer of darkness. The hollow silence is broken only by the distant roar of one of the local animals, the only species of sentient life that had existed on this planet before its colonisation. They are giant, noble beasts, somewhere between a Terran lion and bear in appearance, but like a sehlat in character. The High Council - or rather, Spock thinks bitterly, what's left of it - has named them _Zahelsu_, since they are highly empathic creatures and had quickly established bonds with many of the settling Vulcans.

Spock tries not to think of the one lying sprawled in the other room. Arnaya had not stopped following him for several days, until he had finally acknowledged her. But the hazel eyes that stare knowingly up at him remind him too much of the one he can no longer have, the one whose eyes were a bright sparkling green and warm amber, a window shaped by the most skilled glassblower of all - the universe.

He tries to wrench his thoughts away from him, to no avail. All he can think of now is Jim, Jim, _Jim_ \- how can he not? Even if the Vulcan part of him knows that it is illogical to dream of that which he can no longer have, even if the human part knows too, his soul still cries out, still aches for someone to smooth out his tattered edges.

_It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all._

Jim. Jim would say that, of course he would. He loved books, the smell of them, the feel of old, worn paper and ink under his fingertips. Is he really no longer as real, as tangible as those fragments of history?

But these thoughts are selfish and self-serving. Jim gave everything he had, and Spock needs to cherish what shards of him he has left. They almost coalesce into a faint image that stands behind him with soft eyes and says, _Well, Mr. Spock?_ with a voice that ghosts over the hairs on his neck and makes him shiver even now, decades later, the voice-

That is lost forever, trapped in the Nexus.

Spock allows himself a sigh, and turns away from the window.

He needs to sleep. Gazing at the cold stars of New Vulcan will not help him do so. Besides, it was Jim's destiny to walk among the stars. Spock's was only to be there, by Jim's side.

And so, even destiny has failed the man with pointed ears and a human heart.

* * *

_He can hear Doctor McCoy's voice somewhere in the distance, probably lecturing him on getting hurt again. The blood rushing in his ears drowns out the individual words, even if he was paying attention. No, what holds his eyes now, like a vice, is Jim. _

_They are on opposite sides of the Sickbay, but it doesn't matter. It never matters. The other beds are empty, anyway._

_Spock swings his legs over the side of the bed, completely ignoring Leonard's protests. Jim is still staring at him. Spock sinks down onto the bed next to his, and Jim struggles to sit up. _

_It's like slow motion, moving through syrup, which is really just illogical, he's never been in syrup before, he has no idea if it relates to this scenario at all. It's a phrase, however, that he picked up from Jim, and, of all the humans on the ship, Jim's strange little idioms and humanisms are the hardest to shake. _

_Jim. It has always been Jim. Everything around him is connected to Jim, drawing him back._

_Home._

_Jim is his home. Has always been his home. _

_How could he not have realised that?_

_He reaches out, watching Jim's fingers spread as well, a mirror image. His breath hitches as they get closer, a centimetre, a millimetre -_

He wakes up with a gasp, reaching for someone that is long gone. He is alone, but for that dull ache of pain in his heart that has begun again, a relentless, mournful beat_._

* * *

"So, Spock." the Other Jim's voice floats through the speakers.

"Jim." Spock replies calmly, fighting a smile.

Jim has obviously just woken up, and the way his eyelids stick together in the early morning is apparently the same in this universe as well. Spock feels his heart shatter that much more.

Spock has a feeling that Jim is not alone in getting up, and, sure enough, his younger self pads into the view of the holocam. He immediately stiffens, since Spock is Spock and prefers not to be seen shirtless. Especially when he has what looks like bite marks on his neck and shoulders.

That hasn't changed either.

Younger Spock quickly melts into the background, before reappearing with a t-shirt pulled on, one that is too wide and too short and clearly reads _Go Climb A Rock__._ He does not seem to be irritated by the incorrect measurements or the rather _illogical _phrase, and Jim_certainly_ does not, judging by the look he sends the younger Spock, blue eyes widening fractionally, tongue flicking out slightly.

Nonetheless, Jim coughs slightly awkwardly as the younger Spock pointedly tucks himself into Jim, the challenge in his dark eyes all too familiar. It's the same one Spock would see if he chanced upon seeing his own reflection while Jim was charming a delegate.

The younger Jim, however, ploughs on through his thoughts, his voice thick and nervous.

"Me and, um, Spock, well, younger you," said Vulcan's eyebrow flicks up in tandem with Spock's one and Jim snorts, "We... got together?"

"I do not believe that is a question you need an answer to," Spock says drily at the same time as his counterpart mutters, "We are indeed '_together_', Jim."

Jim smiles, and Spock wonders if he'll ever be able to pick up the pieces of his heart.

* * *

_"Hey Spock," Jim whispers in his ear, biting gently at the shell and making Spock shiver in the human's hold, "You called me - us - _T'hy'la. _What does that mean?"_

_He horribly mispronounces it, and Spock holds down a snort. He twists round in Jim's arms, dislodging the human's leg from his hip and getting a nip on his shoulder as retribution. Jim's face is inches away from his, their noses brushing. He flashes Spock a nonsensical smile, a white flash of teeth in the semi-gloom._

_"_T'hy'la," _Spock murmurs pointedly, making Jim rolls his eyes, and lifts his hand, placing it on Jim's cheek, spreading his fingers out so that they touch each of the psi-points there. He watches as a sort of slow understanding dawns in Jim's eyes, warm amber in the soft light, "Means, in Vulcan, friend, brother, lover, and yet all that at once. I believe that in Terran terms, it would be most accurate to call it soulmates, even when it is infinitely more than that. It is_ us."

_Jim just smiles that slow, honest grin of his. Spock's heart beats a little faster, predictable as always._

_"I thought destiny was illogical," he rumbles, low and amused but with undertones of awe seeping into his tone._

_Spock realises that he doesn't need to think to know what's going through Jim's mind, not for the first time. It would be amusing to a being with less emotional control than him, he realises, the way that he and Jim didn't notice._

_He replies, "Indeed."_

_Jim chuckles, the vibrations ricocheting inside Spock's chest and through his body. Spock shivers again. Jim's pupils dilate slightly as he presses closer._

_"So," he murmurs, nosing along Spock's jaw, his soft hair tickling Spock's cheek, as his eyes, bright as ever, flick up, "_T'hy'la, _eh? You Vulcans are the most logically illogical species..."_

_Spock allows himself a half-smile and Jim's own just grows wider._

* * *

Spock, once again, cannot sleep.

Arnaya snuffles next to him, her black nose cold and wet under his palm. Her warm golden is like silk under his hand. The tufted end of her tail twitches. She is usually asleep at this time, but the influence of the telepathic bond is keeping her awake. It makes him feel guilty, but she responds with naught but comfort and soft fur.

The stars continue to wheel across the sky, heedless of his bleeding heart. The heavens seem cold this night, sneering down at Spock. He thinks of when he was welcome among them, strung along on the arm of someone who belonged there.

Sometimes, the ache is more pronounced, the loss more acute. Sometimes, he wonders if he's forgotten how to feel warmth at all. Even Arnaya is foreign, cold, for all her warm fur and understanding eyes.

The cup of tea in his hand feels like the only warm thing in his life. 

The pendant is heavy around his neck. He had intended to give it to his younger self, but he had decided not to at the last moment. The loss of that comforting weight, his last solid link to Jim, was too much for him to bear.

_Illogical_, he scolds himself, but he cannot bring himself to turn away from the window. Beneath his fingers, the ones knotted through thick, golden fur, Arnaya stiffens minutely and turns around. Spock does not follow her gaze, choosing instead to watch her eyes, the starlight reflecting in silver blips across her dark pupils.

"Arnaya," he says softly.

She does not respond, her ears merely twitching in acknowledgement of his words.

"Arnaya," he repeats, a littler louder, sterner. Her eyes flick up to look at him before returning to a fixed point somewhere behind him.

Spock exhales, more forcefully than usual, through his nose. Jim would call it a sigh.

_Jim, Jim, Jim. Always Jim, even now._

"Arnaya," Spock murmurs for the third time, "There is no-one there. There cannot be anyone there."

Arnaya snuffles at him in an almost exasperated way. Spock turns, if only to appease her, and-

The floor sways under his feet. Blood roars in his ears. He can barely hear the noise of the cup shattering at his feet over the pounding of his own pulse.

It cannot be. It is not _possible_, the universe does _not_ _work that way_, it has never listened to his cries before and it is _certainly_ not starting now. It is illogical, a hallucination, proof his mind has finally begun to unravel. It is not real, not possible, not logical, _not real, not possible -_

But he can't feel that last fine thread of sanity snap. No, he feels set alight. His entire soul is kindling once more, he can feel it, can feel the song in his bones, the never ending chant.

Across the room, shining like the first rays of sunlight through mist, face pale in the light of the moons, stands a very familiar human. His eyes glitter in the light, confused, as he grips the sole chair in the room for support. He blinks once, twice, then looks up. His face sharpens, clears-

"_Spock_?" says a voice that Spock thought he would never hear again.

His voice, his _voice_ is rough, like the elbow patches of the checked shirt that he is wearing. The red and black one, the one that resides, folded, in the bottom of the wardrobe in the corner of the bedroom they were supposed to share. 

Spock tries to reply, tries to say something, but what comes out instead is something like a choked sob. He feels shame flare at his brazen display of emotion. They roil unchecked through him, chanting _Jim, Jim, Jim, JIM -_ even as he steps forward in tandem with the human on the other side of the room.

Jim is smiling, his eyes crinkled in the way they only do when he looks at Spock. Spock feels his throat close up, and all of a sudden Jim is _right there. _Spock can feel tears of happiness, relief, agony, all the suppressed _feeling _of decades of separation. It is like that time in the Sickbay, so long ago, stretching, stretching, and finally, _finally,_ touching.

With crushing force, Jim wraps his arms around Spock, his face pressed up against Spock's shoulder. Spock tucks his face into Jim's neck, inhaling the sharp scent of his T'hy'la.

_Soulmates._

No words are said.

Spock allows the tears to drip down his cheeks.

* * *

_It is raining outside._

_Such a simple observation is illogical, Spock thinks vaguely, but the thought drifts away, soothed by the slow _tap-tap-tap_ of the rain beyond the glass. _

_Spock has always found precipitation fascinating. Rain is not an uncommon phenomenon in most of the known galaxy, but Vulcan is a desert planet. The water flows deep underground, far from any temptation to evaporate into the sky. There are only a few lakes and seas on Vulcan and it hasn’t rained in over a century. _

_He remembers the hope that had always stuttered in his chest as a child whenever he saw one of the scarce, shredded clouds. They might coalesce for a time, before inevitably being torn apart by the ruthless winds of the desert. Still, he held his breath and closed his eyes, wishing against all logic for those gentle wet drops to trail down his face. _

_He saw it in Mother, too. It showed in how she would gaze at the crimson sky, the rare times she did, something soft and sad peeking through her eyes, a quiet resignation._

_It was logical for her to be unused to such weather. After all, Terra is 71% water, with unfathomably huge oceans. The bodies of water on Vulcan, in contrast, take up around 24.164% of the planet's surface area. _

_Spock clearly remembers the tranquil waters of Lake Yuron. It was a perfect mirror, not a ripple as far as the eye could see. It was shrouded by mist, and if he peered long enough, he could almost see little figures flitting to and fro, and giant behemoths, hiding behind a veil. He observed the water from the window of his bedroom. It helped calm his mind, as he sat meditating in his preferred place, the windowsill._

_And now, he is sitting on another windowsill, in a rented apartment in San Francisco, watching rain flood down. _

_The droplets reflect the drab grey of the relentless fog, twisting colours and shapes around. They creep, quivering, down the glass. He cannot resist the impulse to trail their paths with a careful fingertip, breath misting on the glass._

_He feels rather than sees Jim come up behind him. The human radiates a sort of soft amusement as he loops his arms around Spock's middle, pecking the back of his neck. _

_"I really do love you," Jim murmurs suddenly, gently, into Spock's hair._

_It is not the first time he has said those words, but they warm Spock's soul._

_Spock twists round and meets Jim's steady gaze. Those warm amber eyes flick over his face, full of love and adoration. Spock still cannot quite get used to it, this unconditional acceptance. He quirks a small, lopsided smile, helpless as always to hide in the presence of his_ T'hy'la. _As always, a slow smile spreads across Jim's face, his eyes crinkling. _

_Spock takes the hand that isn't on the glass and covers Jim's own with it, lying clasped just above his hipbones. With the other, fingertips chilled and coloured pale green by cold glass, he cradles Jim’s cheek, and says:_

_"I love you also."_

**Author's Note:**

> _Zahelsu_ means _follower_ in Vulcan. i couldn't find the plural, so excuse the illogic of having a singular name for an entire species ;P  
the title and quote are from, you guessed it, nitesky by robot koch. i sort of recommend listening to it while reading.
> 
> kudos and comments are always very appreciated, though i would prefer it if there was no criticism on my handling of canon. after all, that's what canon _ divergence _ is for.  
actually, scratch that, please leave kudos and comments - they are very important to us writers.  
thanks :)


End file.
